


Don't Hang Your Head

by NickyFox13



Category: Grey's Anatomy
Genre: POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-09 22:10:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7819150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NickyFox13/pseuds/NickyFox13





	Don't Hang Your Head

You are a patient: vulnerable, in pain, and alone.

Your life is in the hands of doctors: these men and women studied for years and years to save you or kill you. If-when?- you live, you will be too grateful for words. If you die...well, you didn't think it would come down to that: you were hoping hard enough for life that you expected to be granted a second chance.

THe pain you face is physical, which can't be helped until there's a medical decision about what's wrong with you. That could take ages, but you're willing to wait if it means a stronger chance at life. What people don't think about is the emotional pain, which can be helped but only if you survive. There is a high cost with an inexplicable toll, and you know, deep down, you've got to survive but you aren't strong enough to die.

All you can do now, while waiting for the doctors to to diagnose you, is pray for your health, which isn't really in your hands right now. God hasn't mattered much, or maybe God has in the past; but it all boils down to hope, a fleeting thing that should comfort you. In fact, there's a chance you can't even use your hands right now to pray: but that's not a matter that worries you, because you're more worried about the general state of your life. As you're surrounded by a flurry of doctors, you're too busy screaming in pain to notice that there are doctors living their lives around you.

You are only alone in loose definitions of the word. At least, that's the situation if you're sent to an OR; whether or not you've got family or friends or loved ones matters because in the OR, you're an island viewed from the point of view a bird's eye vision.

A white sterile room, one that brings you endless joy only dwarfed by the inescapable fear of the unknown, is where you will be stationed for the hours of your stay. The ease in which you become familiar with the sights in this room makes you both uneasy and calm. You aren't sure why you notice these details: the pain should be overcoming you enough to dwarf your senses, but it's nice to keep your mind off of the searing pain. You hope dearly that your pain won't be prolonged by mistakes.

You calm down long enough to see a sea of scrubs outside of your room; their movements are quick but never spastic and meticulous in their painful precision. You can't decide if it's a good thing. Having doctors constantly in your line of vision means your health is well protected in the hands of competent, caring people. It could also be negative: you are about to die.

Facing your own mortality should've been less complicated than this. Gray Sloan Memorial, Seattle Grace Mercy West, or Seattle Grace, whatever this hospital was called, would be the start of your new beginning or the first step into a dark descent into death.

"Don't hang your head and cry," the handsome dark haired doctor says, "because today is a beautiful day to save lives. You're going to-"

That's the last thing you hear, for now.


End file.
